Spring The Dirty Whore
I feel broken now. I am lying strewn across the cobles in pieces. The way light refracts from a single raindrop in scattered rainbows, abandoned in the storms wake. I can't feel my personality and wonder if I ever had one. Yet there remains hope or at least the dim shadow of a memory of hope. Broken is comfortable and hope takes effort. Perhaps it is hope that should run down hill into utter entropy, I feel the world might be a better place for it.
Prologue
The boy ran through the woods as fast as his legs would carry him sprinting over the icy ground and barrelling over a small ditch.
How far had he come?
How far had they followed him?
Where was he going?
For that matter where was he now?
Time Skips
Honestly, when I first met her, she reminded me of my first sweetheart. Except she was female. She had long soft brown hair, just like her, and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen, like little beads of ember stuck in between thick eyelashes.
"Hello," were the first words she said to me.
I was smitten. But, it's too soon to get to all that. I had to start from where it all began. With a knock on my door. Our door. From Marjory, the thorn in my side.
